


The More Things Change

by libbertyjibbit



Series: TMA October Prompt Fills [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Invisibility, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Evan Lukas/Peter Lukas, Minor Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Evan pays a captive Martin a visit.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Evan Lukas
Series: TMA October Prompt Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949629
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> Day three of Kinktober - Orgasm Denial
> 
> This story is intended to follow "What Comes Around" but can be read as a stand alone.

Martin’s going to lose his mind.

He thought he knew what it was, being alone. Peter had insisted on it, telling him that he needed to walk a very delicate line and that line required more isolation than most. And he’d done it. Cut himself off, held himself back. He’d liked it, a little. It had felt good, like he was putting his helplessness and neediness in a box and locking it away where no one could reach. He’d felt powerful, brushing off Basira’s attempts to talk to him, ignoring Melanie’s rages. Keeping himself from visiting Jon.

But that had been nothing like this. Even when he’d insisted on Martin hiding himself away from everyone else, Peter had always been around. Standing far too close, touching him, his hands always on Martin in some way. He’d grown used to it, and when it had gone farther it had seemed only natural. Peter fucked him to remind him that he was all Martin had, and he didn’t care. Martin could be anyone, and even that had been sort of nice. Not having to worry that he wasn’t any good, free to ask for the things he’d never be able to ask from someone he cared about. He’d been held down and gagged and hurt and it had felt so good. He’d begged and moaned and asked for more, please, more, and Peter had given it to him. Over and over.

The memory warms him in the dank room, fires his blood. He squirms a bit, legs falling open to make room for his slowly hardening cock. He can’t touch himself, but it doesn’t matter. The warmth is enough.

He wonders if this is Peter’s doing. He supposes it must be. Get him used to having his hands and mouth on him and then rip it away, casting him even further into the Lonely along with the realization that he’d somehow gotten attached enough for it to work. He hates himself for letting it work. Stupid, needy Martin, falling into an obvious trap because he’s so desperate for any kind of care that it doesn’t matter if it’s false.

He misses Peter.

He’s so lost in memory that at first he thinks that the touch on his neck is in his head, cold comfort amidst the emptiness of the room, but then he feels a thumb stroke along his throat and he knows that it’s real, after all. The touch is light, barely there at all, and when Martin tries to lean into it, to get firmer contact, it disappears entirely.

“No, don’t,” he says without meaning to. There is no answer, but after a few moments the light touch returns. Martin closes his eyes and forces himself not to push into it; he is rewarded when the hands on him begin to move.

First they travel along his face, over his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. Fingertips swipe across his brow and his chin and the shells of his ears; Martin shivers. The touch is cool even in the chill of the room, but it burns his skin, making it tingle. Every cell in his body is attuned to where the fingers move, to the soft touches as they glide over his neck and along his shoulders, dancing over his collarbones briefly before moving on.

A fingertip circles a nipple, and Martin moans, overwhelmed already, head tossing. He squirms; he can feel his nipples tightening, the sensation almost painful, and then his unseen companion rolls them between finger and thumb and he moans again, legs falling even wider. What he feels isn’t precisely arousal but lust so thick that it’s almost painful. It twists in his stomach like snakes.

One hand moves lower, fingers playing with his navel, circling it idly while the other continues to torture his nipple. Martin shakes with the effort of keeping himself still, even as the hand at his navel moves lower, lightly circling his cock. Then a mouth, impossibly hot, closes over a nipple and sucks, and he can’t stop himself from arching into it with a cry. His hands, useless, chained hands, scrabble at the floor, and his hips jerk as a bolt of sensation slides straight to his cock. He feels his body begin to shake apart and he welcomes it, chases it, wanting to come so badly…

There’s a sharply indrawn breath from in front of him, and then fingers pinch down cruelly on the base of his cock. Martin gasps. His body gives a sick lurch and he twists, trying to get away from the cruel hand.

“No,” he says, the word a moan. “Don’t, I need –“

“I don’t care what you need.” The words are angry but the tone is odd, lost almost, and Martin opens his eyes.

Evan Lukas is crouching in front of him, eyes fixed over Martin’s shoulder. He looks shocked and turned on and almost terrified, eyes wide and round in his flushed face. Martin knows without knowing how that he is close himself, so close to doing something he shouldn’t. He wants to touch, to put his mouth on Martin’s skin and watch marks bloom, marks like the ones Peter left, pretty purples and reds. Wants to claim him and take him away from Peter, show him that he can’t, he can’t -

_Yes_ , Martin thinks. “Please,” he says, practically begging. Evan’s eyes snap up to his, and Martin can clearly see the want written all over him. “Evan, please.”

Evan swallows hard and his gaze drifts to Martin’s mouth. Martin tilts his head forward and Evan actually sways towards him, eyelashes fluttering, before he yanks himself away from Martin, shaking his head.

“No,” he says. “No.” And then he scrambles to his feet and fairly flees the room, leaving Martin alone, hard and aching.

***

Evan doesn’t touch himself. He wants to. Oh, how he wants to. Just the memory of how well Peter’s pet responded to him has him dizzy with arousal, and he’s so hard it hurts. But he’s also terrified, the fear mixing with lust and making his stomach churn unpleasantly.

Peter used to do that to him, he remembers. Slide in invisible and touch him all over, work him up and then keep him from coming, just to watch him writhe in the agony of unfulfilled lust. Evan would never see his face; he was only allowed the light touch of his hands, playing over his body, drawing responses out of him that he didn’t want to give. It pleased Peter to watch him fight it, to see him struggle against his own body’s responses to how Peter made it feel. He never said a word, either – the point was for Evan to feel used, and to hate himself for enjoying it.

It had seemed like a good idea to do the same to Peter’s latest little project. Do what you know, right? But it had backfired spectacularly. The man had enjoyed it unreservedly, almost like he – but no. If he wanted it he wouldn’t be here.

Evan pours himself a drink. His hand shakes, bottle clattering against the glass, and he downs his first one rapidly before pouring another, larger one. The alcohol doesn’t do his upset stomach any favors, but it calms him down, and he needs that more than anything.

He’d liked it. That’s where it had really gone wrong. He’d liked it and he’d wanted to do more. He doesn’t want to like what he’s doing, wants it to be a chore, something to be gotten over with and then drank away. He doesn’t want to be thinking about the man’s soft mouth or the noises he made when Evan touched him, how he’d begged so sweetly for more. He doesn’t want to imagine him strung up and strung out, his cock hard and leaking, lost to everything but how good he feels as Evan takes him hard. Most of all he doesn’t want to be like Peter, doesn’t want to take joy in this, but his response to their captive scares him, makes him wonder if maybe he’s exactly like Peter after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider letting me know.


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